No Deal
by whitetiger91
Summary: All Theodore Nott has left of his mother is her jewellery, yet his father is determined to relieve his pain and get rid of the memories. When tears won't help him, some unwarranted advice might.


**_This story was written for The Houses Competition, Year 5, Round 6. _**

**_House/team: Gryffindor_**

**_Class subject: Defence Against the Dark Arts_**

**_Story category: Drabble_**

**_Prompt: 3. [Setting] Borgin and Burkes_**

**_Word count: 994 words (Google docs)_**

**_Beta: White Eyebrow, secretfanficlover_**

**_Extra: I ran out of words, so I hope it's clear what Theo's plan is. It's my headcanon that Rosalie Nott died from cancer, and her husband doesn't know how to cope. Borgin's last name is intentionally used as in canon._**

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**No Deal**

"Hurry up, boy."

Theodore tried to keep pace with his father, shivering as he passed an old hag. The witch seemed too busy talking animatedly to herself to notice that her tattered shawls were trailing in the puddle at her feet.

They soon stopped in front of a shop covered in peeling green paint. Faded golden letters across the upper facade spelt out 'Borgin and Burkes.' When the nine-year-old peered into the grimy window, he wasn't surprised to see a collection of cracked skulls on display.

He hoped his father would change his mind, but the man simply strolled through the door. As the bell jingled, Theodore slipped in behind him and gazed around the dimly lit shop. More skulls took pride of place on a broken wooden cabinet, whilst various antiques, black-flamed candles, and shrunken heads competed for space on the dirty shelves. When he took a step towards a deck of blood-stained cards, a cloud of dust rose from the floorboards.

"Don't touch anything," his father said, striding over to the counter.

"Please, Father, don't—"

"Quiet." He drummed his fingers on the glass countertop. "They call this service?"

Theodore took a deep breath. "Mother wouldn't want this. I'll take good care of them…"

"I said quiet!" His father's eyes flashed. "Don't tell me what your mother would want. She left us; she has no use for them any more. And for Merlin's sake," his voice was quieter, yet more venomous, "stop snivelling."

Theodore hastily wiped away the tears prickling his eyes as a squat man entered from a side door. His pale eyes took in his father's tailored robes, and with a flourish, he bowed low—so low that Theodore could see bald patches beneath his thin, greasy hair. He hoped his father would realise how pathetic the shopkeeper was, but he held his hand out, allowing the man to grip it for a second.

"What a pleasure, Belanus. I didn't expect to see you back so soon after Rosalie's pass—" The man caught sight of his father's glower. "_Ahem._ What fine things have you brought for me today?"

"Just a few pieces I no longer need, Borgin." His father withdrew a small sack from his cloak and tossed it onto the counter.

Theodore's chest tightened as his mother's jewellery spilt out of the sack. Among the items were an extravagant silver and opal necklace, a pair of exquisite pearl studs, and—his heart panged—the emerald ring she'd worn every day. She'd once told him that emeralds had healing properties, and he'd naïvely believed her.

Licking his lips, Borgin tried—and failed—to school his face into the same neutral expression his father had mastered. His eyes bulged as he took in the jewellery.

The young brunet looked at his father, silently begging him not to sell them. He didn't have anything else left of his mother.

The man examined the necklace. "Ordinarily, these pieces would be worth a lot..."

"Naturally, or do you suggest I buy," his father wrinkled his nose, "non-goblin-made pieces?"

"Of course not," Borgin said, bowing again. This time, Theodore noticed his head had grown shinier with sweat. "But, as they're not new, I cannot possibly pay you the original price."

His father tapped his pocket and the sound of coins clinking together rung across the small store. "You dare suggest I want for money?"

"No, many apologies." The man snatched a quill and a piece of parchment from the mouth of a skull sitting on the counter and quickly scribbled on it. "I can offer this."

His father barely glanced at the amount. His dark eyes were focused on the jewellery, and Theodore found himself filling with hope. Was he having second thoughts?

He sighed. "Fine, let's just hurry this up."

"Father, no—"

His father took the coins Borgin offered him, before turning and leaving the shop.

The clanging of the bell rang in Theodore's ears. Through watery eyes, he peered up at Borgin, who was clutching the jewellery with a wide grin.

"Excuse me, sir?"

Borgin jumped. "Oh, it's you. What do you want?"

From his pocket, Theodore pulled out the Sickles he'd been saving. "Please, can I have my mother's jewellery back?"

The man sneered. "The deal is final."

"I'll pay whatever you want." He mimicked his father and tapped his pocket. "I have more money."

Borgin placed his mother's ring on a holder by the skull and pointed a grubby finger at him. "I'm not stupid, boy. Your father sent you, didn't he? Told you to put on the waterworks hoping I'd feel sorry for you."

"_Please…_" The word choked in his throat, but he couldn't bring himself to feel ashamed; he _needed _them back.

"Listen here, sonny. Tears will never get you far in life. I won't part with these until I get triple the price. Now _scram!_"

The doorbell clanged again and Theodore was soon shoved aside by a blond man, to whom Borgin bowed.

"Welcome! I have just the thing for you," he said, holding up the opal necklace. "It's able to carry curses… It'd make a lovely gift for an enemy if you catch my drift."

Theodore's heart felt like it'd been ripped apart. That was it; he'd failed his mother. He'd allowed all that was left of her to be swindled away and used for dark matters. All he could do was memorise the pieces and hope that, unlike his mother, they wouldn't fade away. The emerald ring glinted up at him, beautiful and pure, just like she'd been.

_He couldn't let them ruin it..._

Taking a deep breath, he knocked over the skull next to it, sending the ring holder and pieces of parchment scattering over the counter.

"_SCRAM!_"

As Borgin rushed over, he sprinted from the shop.

Borgin was right; tears wouldn't help him. He'd have to rely on himself. Tapping his pocket, he hurried to catch up with his father, smiling as the coins inside clinked against the emerald ring.


End file.
